It's LoveMake it Hurt
by blondie2
Summary: Everyone thinks an abusive husband is that way all the time. Ginny knows the truth...that's why she can't leave him. GinnyHarry, GinnyDraco
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: It's love...make it hurt.

Author's note: Given that this my first year of college and i am still a developing writer, I'm gonna have to ask for patience in between chapters and sugar-coated constructive criticism. Although I have read all the books, I am no expert on key little facts, so try not to be too nick-picking. Whether or not I find the time or desire to continue this will probably be based on reviews...so let me know what you think. As always...Harry potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, etc.

This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last. I felt my brain swirl around inside my skull and the metallic taste of blood mix with saliva in my mouth. There was no crunch of broken bones, and any would be taken care of immediately—my experience made me more qualified to be a healer than any NEWT scores. The thud my head made when it hit the floor darkened my world for a few moments, and I welcomed it. If I was unconscious then I wasn't here when he hit me, slapped me, **beat** me. The pain from my body being knocked to the ground was old, almost familiar. There were a few swift kicks to my stomach, pushing my back closer to the wall with each one. It was the fourth kick, the last one I remember, that swung head back, and I couldn't tell if the cracking noise that responded was the plaster of the wall break or my skull.

He wasn't always like this. Please believe me when I say he wasn't, because I'm not trying to defend him in any way. People change, for better or for worse...he changed for worse.

He used to be sweet. Sweet and kind and understanding and he loved me and who I was and all my quirky little thoughts and inspirations. Then he changed; Suggestions on what to wear to dinner became demands, assumptions became rules, **laws**, and fights became bloody.

The first slap was the most vivid—all the others blur together with different dates and situations, always the same pain, the same outcome. A joke, a stupid joke told after lots of butterbeer late at night while staying over at the Burrow for Christmas. The moment I said it I knew I had gone to far. I saw his smile, his soul, the man I married pull within himself and abandon me with the dangerous shell of a man I had known to be reserved for fighting the ultimate evil—not his wife. His eyes got darker and I remember the way the sleeve of his sweater swung at his wrist the second before he backhanded me. I remember I felt the softness of the wool and the power of the muscle. I remember the way my neck snapped back and the blood dripping from my nose before his hand even left my face. I remember seeing the blood on his sweater, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.

I remember the look on his face, the look of utter shock. My husband was back and realized what had happened when he left me—left me defenseless, and look what some monster had done to his wife in his absence? He gulped, and started crying before I did, but it was only when I started to cry that he reached out and held me. He just held me as we both sobbed together, lost from each other and the peaceful marriage we had once shared. I cried on his shoulder, his arms tight around me, and what hurts me more about that memory is that it was the first time I didn't feel safe in his arms. During the death and destruction of The Great War, he just had to hold me and the world went away; it was just us, and I was protected by not just a man who loved me, but by love itself. He moaned into my hair how sorry he was that night, how it would never happen again, how much he loved me, and even then I couldn't bring myself to believe him.

That night when we made love, he was as tender as he had been the first time. It was almost as if he felt he could make it up to me, that cruelty could be overshadowed by kindness. That was the first time we made love and I clung to him all night, desperate to hold on to that one part of my husband that I recognized.

The next morning during breakfast, he squeezed my arm so tight that it left bruises of each of his fingers—not for telling a joke at his expense, but rather for laughing at one Ron had made. My family laughed as he flipped Ron the bird and squeezed my arm. That was the first time I realized that I could never tell any of my family about this. They loved him too much, at times I believed, more than they had ever loved me. If they were ever to believe it, it would break their hearts, and I refused to put my family through any more suffering of any kind.

So the years passed by, and they never knew—no on did. Spells were casts before red could even fade to purple, or any blood could stain the carpet—but nothing took the pain away...ever. He continued to control me, and even convinced me to quit my job as an auroa. Somehow he seemed to think it was safest for me to stay at home, keeping the house tidy and the garden colorful. I had always be insistent about having children, at least throughout our engagement. But once he hit me, I vowed to never bring a child into this home. Even if he never touched him or her, how could I hide things from someone else living in the house? Even with all the spells I had mastered, eventually the child would hear yelling or crying or cracking or see daddy hitting mommy. That was the one thing I felt I had control over—no children. He knew nothing about the muggle birth control I took every day and how I had gone to great lengths to hide it the garden; I feel embarrassed to admit that I uncovered and reburied it every single day.

When I finally came to that night, he was looking at me with that same face. Not necessarily a "What have I done?" face but more of a "How could someone do this to you?" face. His features softened and but his arm was still raised, almost threating to me to accuse him of anything—that he, my loving husband, could possibly do anything this cruel to me. I looked at him as the darkness faded away and the light showered on his face. I looked at the scar that reminded me that this was my husband, not a monster. Somehow his hair always seemed to cover the scar as he beat me, so seeing it was my touchstone, my white flag. I looked up at the scar, and then at his face, and his arm still tense, his fist still clenched. I thought about what I have been reduced to by love. It wasn't fear that kept me from leaving Harry, it was love. I still loved the man with a scar on his forehead and no one matter what that monster did to me I knew I could never leave Harry.

I started to cry, tears of pain and humiliation and above all—hope. If nothing else, crying brought Harry back to me, reminded him not only of who I was, but who he was—my husband. His arm dropped and his eyes instantly watered over, the inside of his glasses somehow becoming sprinkled by the tears. He reached down and wrapped his arms around me as we both cried.

"Oh Ginny...I'm so sorry...I didn't know...how could I...how...Oh god Ginny!" He moaned into my hair as he held me tight. I rubbed his back to comfort him, and reminded myself that he loved me. This is what love is—it's passionate and painful, and it hurts. I knew that it was Harry who beat me, that Harry and the monster were the same person somehow, but I also knew that no one could comfort me like Harry could. No one.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 (Following Chapter 1, the prologue): A Surprise Visitor

I woke up the next morning with an unusually warm English sun hitting my sore and healing body. I opened my eyes to see that the sun shone brightly through the open window, waking me before anything else got the chance.

A small breeze blew the window, lifting the drapes above the bed I shared with Harry. The world we lived in was different from the one during the war; no one really was afraid of anything anymore—Harry and I slept with the window open every night the weather was pleasant enough, and most people left their doors unlocked these days. After Harry had defeated Voldermont, the world had rejoiced and celebrated in a peace that had not felt in decades. A few deatheaters denied their great leader defeat and death; they swore it was a trick, that he was living in hiding somewhere, testing them to remain faithful. The methods they used to display their loyalty to him landed all of them in Askaban, including Lucius Malfoy.

I lifted my head and turned around to see my husband getting out of bed and getting ready for work. After all the planning and triumphs Harry accomplished to defeat the Dark Lord, he chose to never leave Hogwarts. Despite the offers for various Ministry positions and Auror recommendations, Harry wanted to relive his days in Dumbledore's Army—he had held the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts since the war had ended.

Unlike any of the other teachers, Harry was the only one who had ever chosen to commute to the job. There was some difficulty in getting Harry physically to the school without changing any magical restrictions on the school itself—in the end, it was decided that Harry would apparate to Hogsmeade, and then ride a thestal to and from Hogsmeade to the school each day. The difficulty in reality was minor, everyone in the Wizarding world was willing to bend over backwards for THE Harry Potter, not only "the Boy Who Lived," but now "the Man Who Conquered."

I had also considered applying for a teaching position at Hogwarts, but in the end I realized that I would really be most happy at home, doing little projects around the house, and raising the children; this decision for me to not work was of course made before Harry began to hit me, before the place that had always been my safe haven became a bit of a prison. The lack of children that I supposed to producing and raising was not something that escaped Harry's mind either, though I avoided the subject as much as possible nonetheless.

Seeing him getting dressed, I jumped out of bed thinking of how he would be wanting breakfast soon—like every other man I knew of, he felt he needed bacon, eggs, and toast to sustain him every morning. As I swung on a light cotton robe over my nightgown, he lighted grabbed my left wrist.

"Hey," he whispered softly, as he pulled me closer. I felt my whole body melt a little at his tone—_this is the man I married_, I thought, as he pulled me towards him and kissed me gently on the lips. I closed my eyes and savored the moment our faces were both still breaths away from each other, pretending the night before, the years before really, had been a bad dream, and this was my reward for not forcing myself awake—everything was just as wonderful as it had been before I had slipped into that dark sleep.

I smiled at him, swinging my arm that was still lightly held by his wrist.

"You have to get ready for work Professor Potter…" I said teasingly, knowing that this Harry loved teaching, but really loved me more than anything else in the whole world.

"I could owl in sick Mrs. Potter. I am surrounded by children all day, perhaps you and I could practice on securing some children to keep at the house." His words were a request, not a demand. I tried not to stiffen at all, knowing how quickly his tone could change into something dangerous. I smiled back at him as I pulled away and began walking towards the kitchen.

"Not today darling, nor the next few it seems, but I'll get started on your breakfast just the same." I instinctively held my breath, waiting for his reaction, wondering who would appear this morning in his body. He simply smiled at me and sighed lightly saying, "All right, darling." Out of the corner of my eye I saw him continue to get dressed calmly. I let out a breath once I was out of earshot , knowing that Harry was going to be with me all morning, not the intruder that had beat me the night before.

Making breakfast, I realized that my face hurt. My skin felt tight around my eyes, and cheeks were sore and one erupted in sharp pain when I moved my jaw. When Harry entered kitchen, I smiled at him as always, only now noticing how much it really pained me to smile. Harry did not notice my quick change in expression as he looked away. While magic could take away the appearance of the beatings, it never completely took the pain away. The past few weeks, it seemed to be less and less effective removing any pain at all.

I sat down across our table from him sipping tea and smiled at the right places and laughed lightly as he told stories of his students. If this was the real Harry, why couldn't I be the real me? When did I start having to fake being happy around him? When did I stop being truly happy around my husband—was I that afraid of what I knew he could become?

As Harry walked out the door, we both leaned and shared a quick kiss. When I pulled away from the kiss, he kept his hand lightly on my bicep.

"Herimone is pregnant again, Ginny." I stood completely stunned for a minute, as he had momentarily broken through the me he saw, the me that could anticipate his every move and syllable slid out of his soft lips.

"She's pregnant again, and I just thought…I know we've been wanting children ever since we got married, and I know you're scared; I just thought that if you could be pregnant at the same time as a friend, as someone who has been through it before, it would easier on you." Honestly, if the past few years hadn't gone on as they did, I would have made him a father right then. I would have quickly wiped the tears of happiness that overpowered me, pulled him back into the house and given us both exactly what we wanted and needed to make our love feel complete.

But life hadn't been that kind to me, and it hurt my face to fake a smile at him, as I whispered so quietly, "Not today darling, not today." He smiled back at me and excitedly ran his fingers through his hair in a way that let me know that he thought the next possible second I was able to, we would jump into bed and began breeding like garden gnomes.

I closed the door behind him as he left and stayed leaned against for what felt like a second. Since my years at Hogwarts, especially with all that went on after Riddle and with Harry, I had learned a few techniques that had made difficult times in life a bit easier to deal with. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped away from myself.

Maybe it's hard to explain, but I concentrated and managed to empty my mind. If I was able to separate myself from me in my mind, well…I wouldn't have to deal with anything going on with me. Even when I didn't have the chance to complete separate myself from all reality, if I was just capable of thinking of my life as something I was observing, something that was happening to someone else, it made everything easier to deal with. I wasn't completely avoiding the problem, because I was helping this other person, giving this girl whose life I watched night and day advice on what to do next and how to do it.

It was only the moments when this all backfired, when a voice inside of me screamed, "No, this is YOU! This is YOU and it's just YOU in here. All these things are happening to YOU…and you are the only one who is ever going to be in here." that I began to panic. My body would begin to shake as neither my mind nor body could really handle the impact of such a deeply depressing realization; but those moments were few in far between, occurring two or three times at Hogwarts and once after…after I realized Harry wasn't going to stop hitting me.

As I leaned my head against the door, desperately not thinking about Herimone's pregnancy or Harry's desire to impregnate me, I felt a great relief. Other than sleeping, this was as free as I got to feel—alone, at home, deliberating not thinking about anything at all. I stood for what felt like only a few seconds, but would most likely be a few hours that would leave completely refreshed and ready to start the day.

My beautiful moment was interrupted, however, by a polite knocking on the door. Glancing at the clock my mother had bought me and seeing that Harry was still at work, I wondered who on Earth it could be. Ron would be at work as well, along with Herimone, and they would have owled before announcing a visit.

I took a deep breath and decided to open the door. If it was a young child selling something, or a neighbor asking to borrow some floo powder, it would only make my day more interesting. I opened the door as I placed the smile on my face that I gave Harry, that I gave the world to show that I was a happy housewife, not beaten but beautiful, and welcoming as well. What I saw nearly knocked me over quicker than one of the monster's backhands.

A man I had not seen in years, but recognized instantly stood in front of my doorway. His white blond was not grown out and pulled back like his father's had been, but kept short like he did when we were first years'. His stature did not like anything as it had at Hogwarts; while childhood had left him normal and thin, his teen years had stretched him to the point of lankiness. While he was only a few inches taller than Harry now, his shoulders spread farther and he seemed to fill out his black robes better than Harry every had. I shook my head a little, thinking this, realizing that Draco Malfoy probably had all of his clothes tailored to his exact measurements.

What surprised me most at this moment thought, was not what Malfoy looked like, or what he was wearing, but what he was obviously holding in his hands. Right before Voldermont's downfall, a few Wizarding communities had gotten the idea into their heads that the world was coming to an end. With the world ending and all, they figured that they should be greatly concerned about their lives after death, and began to practice what had been known in the Muggle world for years as religion. When the Dark Lord was defeated, those who had taken up such religions had proclaimed that it was because of their faith, their belief in such a higher power, that we had all survived. With the world out of danger, their next mission was to save the souls of those who had not yet found Merlin. Of course, some Muggle religions were a bit sillier and more outlandish than others, but nearly any in the Wizarding world were viewed with raised eyebrows.

That was what really caught me off guard—that Draco Malfoy, a supposedly intelligent wizard, was at my door with a religious guide book in his hands, hoping to save my soul.

"Ah, Ginerva Potter, have you ever taken the time to think about your relationship with Merlin?" Malfoy lowered his head and leaned in towards me as he asked question. He then maintained that position while he appeared to patiently wait for my answer.

With Harry, and pretty much everyone else these days, I had managed to maintain an outward appearance of interest, politeness, and happiness that kept anyone (including, yes, Harry) of getting suspicious that I was anything but. Caught with knickers down now, it took every ounce of strength I had now not to burst into laughter at the scene before me. A Malfoy as a missionary?! I don't think I even managed to make my smile appear moderately polite, as the giggles burst out of me in a smile that must have emerged as nothing but condescending.

"To be honest Malfoy, no, I have not given it much thought." The words came out at a moderate speed, but once they were released, they were followed by a small happy sigh of relief. I wondered, had it always felt that good to tell the truth to someone? I found myself almost giddy by not simply the truth I was speaking, but by the whole ridiculousness of the situation. I waited for Malfoy's reply, hoping in the slightest bit that I had no offended him and he wouldn't storm off in a huff. Instead, he smiled politely again and I could have sworn I caught a twinkle in his grey eyes.

"Well, Mrs. Potter, if you have a few minutes, I would enjoy telling you a bit about how improving your relationship with Merlin can change your life for the better." He did not lean in this time as his spoke, but seemed to keep his distance, as if reading himself for a dismissal. He stood patiently, while I considered exactly how far I wanted to take this route with someone I had never had a conversation that wasn't overflowing with deliberate insults and curses.

"Not just my afterlife, Malfoy?" I asked, a bit coyly. The whole point of religion, as it seemed, was to assure good behavior in life that lead to an excellent afterlife. His smile this time was more geniue, and less out of common politeness.

"There's a lot more going on than you imagine, Potter." And with that, I swore I saw a little wink. At this, I actually let out a surprised life. So Malfoy was the charmer all the Slytherin girls had sworn up and down he was, he just didn't show it to people before. I waved him into the house and lead him into the kitchen. I offered him some pumpkin juice, poured him some, and sat down across from him at the table. The chairs we sat in, were not the same Harry and I sat in at every meal, but the other two chairs for the other two sides of the table, the chairs we used for guests in groups of only two.

I felt a bit like a guest in my own kitchen. I had not had someone over when Harry wasn't there for years, and those who did come over came to see Harry and Ginny, the married couple, not Ginerva Potter, the lost soul.

"Now, how exactly, Mr. Malfoy, would having a stronger relationship with improve my life right now?" I said crossing my arms and leaning back into my chair, taking that stance that told Malfoy 'Good luck convincing me.'

"The problem, Mrs. Potter, I believe is that most people see religion as only a way to assure a pleasant afterlife—that living a good and clean mortal life will lead to a guaranteed wonderful afterlife---but that is not the goal." He must have seen the shock on my face as he saw this, because he put down his cup of pumpkin juice, and leaned low against the table, pulling me down with him with his eyes as he spoke again.

"The goal is to make you want to live a better life, to feel better yourself about the life you are living now. It is about reading the literature and going to worship—it is about having the inner peace of knowing that Merlin is with you in your life, and…" (Malfoy seemed to struggle a bit with getting the words out) "…and taking strength in that assurance." He nodded his after he got out the last bit, affirming more to himself than to me that that was what he meant to say and that he meant what he said.

I sat in my chair a little dumbfounded, seriously considering Malfoy's words. Had Merlin been helping me all this time, without me even realizing it? When I thought of nothing, was it really the peace of his presence I felt? Those moments of complete nothingness, was that really him telling my soul that everything was going to be okay?!

Malfoy appeared a bit terrified at my reaction to his words. I was thinking deeply about what he had said when touched my arm ever slightly and whispered, "Are you all right?" I nearly jumped of my seat. Startled, I nodded like crazy in response and then quickly grabbed the empty cups on the table and took them to the sink to wash by hand. I did not look back as I heard Malfoy get up from his chair.

"Perhaps another time, would be better…" his words trailed off as I gave no response. He must have stood there for a few moments before walking at the front door. Once I heard the door close, I let out a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

It was a bit too much right then, you see, because I had hadn't been watching her having a conversation with a person…it had really been me this time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Seeing Who You Really Are

The rest of my day was uneventful. I tidied things up around the house, did some gardening, took my Muggle birth control, and began preparing dinner.

Harry came home as I was setting the food on the table, just the way he likes it. We sat down in our usual spots, and I could not help but glance quickly at the chair I had sat in earlier, now pushed under the table as it always is. The conversation began like any other we had over dinner. I asked him how work was and he gave me little antedotes about his day and I laughed and smiled at the right spots. If everything went right, later tonight he would be touching my body tenderly, as opposed to beating the shit out of me again.

It seemed like it was going to be the former, as he told his little stories and ate plentifully, smiling often. Then there was a break in his chatter, and he paused for longer than necessary as if to consider how to express his next thoughts. By this time, I was washing the dishes by hand—in my head, I simply knew that magic didn't get every spot, but if I physically scrubbed each dish with my bare heads, I could assure myself (and Harry's criticizing fists) that they were truly clean.

"I accepted a position at the Ministry today." His words were blunt and final. Usually he offered some little story or sometype of lead-in to something this big. His bluntness was a sign I would remember later, but I did not catch at the time.

"Really?" I found myself responding. He had been offered various positions over the years, but he had always said that he liked teaching best. Everyone loved Harry, people worshiped him and were always writing books and asking for interviews, and I mean EVERYONE, not just that awful Rita Skeeter. If he ever ran for it, I have no doubt in my mind that he would be voted for Ministry of Magic unanimously.

"Yeah," he released with an uneasy laugh, "they don't even have a name for a position yet, but they were so desperate to give me one. It won't take me away from schooling, just simple things really that I can deal with at home. Ron seemed really excited about it. He figures it won't be long before I'm at the top of the Ministry." He laughed a bit at himself at this, and I found myself laughing with him.

"They do love you." I said nonchalantly. His face changed just the slightest bit, that someone who hadn't known him for a decade wouldn't have noticed. I didn't even notice the change then, I would remember it later, realizing how stupid and thoughtless it was of me to say 'they do love you,' instead of 'WE do love you.' The invisible twitch that was on his face wanted to make its way to the surface.

"Ron reckons with his children having a Godfather who's Ministry of Magic, they'll be able to get away with anything." This time I heard the change in his voice—the tenseness at the mention of children. I gulped and acted irrationally. I thought if I could get him off the subject, I could escape the consequences.

I would be very, very, wrong.

"Guess who stopped by today?!" I exclaimed in a voice a little too high to be cheerful. I continued to wash the dishes with my back to him, unsure if eye contact would help or make matters worse.

"Not the stork, obviously." His words were bitter, even at the Muggle joke. I figured ignoring the joke altogether, and his darkening tone, would be best.

"A missionary, darling! Wanted to talk about my relationship with Merlin over a bit of pumpkin juice--" at this I was interrupted, my sentence cut off by his sharp words as he stood up from the table and roughly shoved his chair under it.

"And did you, 'talk it over a bit of pumpkin juice?'" His words were mocking, but his tone less dark, and whatever words or tones wouldn't cause me physical pain, wouldn't make it impossible to sleep because every position I could lay down hurt like hell.

"Yes, yes, I did Harry, just to be polite of course. And I haven't even gotten to the best part, guess who it was?!" My fake excitement was meant to possibly get him excited and happy, or at the very least, a bit less angry towards me. He now stood at the end of the table, slamming his glass of butterbeer down, and I heard it slosh on the table before he responded with, "Who, you blubbering fool?" His words were annoyed now—still angry, but far less dangerous than his previously bitter tone on the subject of children.

"Draco Malfoy! Who would have thought, after all these years..."

"WHAT?!" I knew I had made a fatal mistake then. Harry was gone for the night. I turned and saw a man grasping the edge of the table as the veins in his neck appeared out of nowhere and his face began to redden.

"Draco Malfoy was in MY HOUSE?!" For a split second I wondered if he thought Draco was a threat. He had gone into hiding after Dumbledore's death, not clearly on one side or the other, but not exactly a bystander either. The common opinion was that he had jumped on the good side moments before the game ended, when he saw who was closest to the Snitch. A swift backhand obliterated these thoughts from my mind. He was in front of me now, his voice loud, and his breath heaving in rage.

"Alone with MY WIFE?!!" He screamed wife at me so loudly that I crouched down towards the floor as if escape from the sound itself. I went to cover my face, and shield my ears a bit, but it did no good as the next blow was a swift, brutal kick to the stomach.

"MY wife…who won't even have my children." _NO. No __no__no__no__no_, I thought. Not this. Not like this. The monster had never done this, had never considered doing this. Harry…Harry…Harry wouldn't let him do this. He would kill him if he found out.

But _NO __NO __NO_, he dropped to his knees so he was on the floor and I was on the floor and he was straddling me. He landed a few more blows to my face and I tasted blood in my mouth—the lead and the salt and the bitterness of it. But then _NO_ he was right on top of me and holding down both my arms with just one of his arms, and _if I could move my legs_. . . But his legs were on mine, holding me down there too.

With his free arm, _OH PLEASE NO_, he pulling up my robes and then down my panties and then I was cold and bare. Please Harry, why aren't you here? Come home, come home now and save me. With his free hand he managed to backhand me again and then yelled, "Stop screaming bitch!" so primitively that I felt his salvia coat my face, the wetness somehow blending in with my tears. Where was my Harry, my husband? I was crying harder than I have ever had before…and he didn't see it. Somehow he couldn't hear me and I started to realize the cold reality that Harry wasn't going to come back this time to save me.

But I just felt myself crying harder and squeezing my eyes shut as I felt the cold floor against my skin and heard him removing his robes. Then his mutterings were low, which were much more frightening, because Harry's voice went low for me, but the monster usually just screamed and cursed.

But now it was low and dark and it sounded as if it was right in my ear even though it was at least a foot above me, with "Won't have my fucking child…you and your screaming…I'll give you something to scream about…"

And that voice, that voice sent a signal straight to my brain—that it was real, that it was real and it was happening to me. I closed my eyes tighter, trying to get away get away get away but I could still hear his heavy breathing and then it turned into dark rough laugh and I was trying to get away from this girl because I hear her whisper between sobs "Please…no…"

And then there was a noise. Almost like a balloon being popped. I kept my eyes closed, but I heard the breathing stop for a moment and then,

"STUPEFY!!!" Honestly, my initial thought was, why would he stun me? He had never cast any spells on me before when he beat me. Then I realized the spell hadn't been cast on me. The man on top to me stood motionless, the anger frozen on his face as he stared at me.

"Petrificus Totalus!" the voice yelled again, and I watched his body fall to the ground, his face crunching on the wooden floor, bound by the curse. I didn't hear if he cracked his skull or not, I wondered if you can only really hear it when it's your own injury.

I didn't know what to think. I lay there with the tears and blood and salvia on my face wondering what possibly could have happened…if Harry had finally managed to separate himself from the monster he had become, that they were two separate beings now, and he had managed to save me once and for all.

As I lay there, I felt someone grab my hand and lift my body up towards him. The sudden movement made me light-headed, along with the pain that seemed to pulsate, making my kitchen and rescuer's face appear very blurry. This person wrapped his arm around my waist, and I felt the pull of a side-along apparition. When we arrived, the room that we were in was very dark, with only a few candles glowing on a chandelier above us. Then I felt the breath of the man holding me against my hair.

He very slowly released his arm that was holding me up, as if waiting for me to tumble down to the floor, testing me to see if I could stand of my own two feet. When I didn't collapse to the ground, he quickly turned away from me and walked a few feet towards the nearest door.

"Don't bleed on the floor—it's worth more than you are." My entire body froze with a chill I had never experienced before in my life. Not when I realized the monster in Harry was coming out, not when I had accidently apparated to Russia in the winter for a split second, and not even when Percy had once walked in on Harry and me having sex, no…this was something different from all of those things.

I looked down from the lights I had been mindlessly staring at and realized that the room I was in was half the size of my own house. The furniture in the room was old-fashioned but luxurious…and the now looking at the back of the man who had taken me, I realized that I could have spotted that white-blond hair from a Quidditch field away.

"What…wwwhhat are you doing?" I said in a voice that was meant to be forceful but I know came out as only a whisper. I felt myself begin to breathe again, with my stomach and ribs screaming in pain at each inhale. My body suddenly became energized with nervous adrenaline. My head was throbbing with pain but also chanted '_I am trapped in __Malfoy's__ house, I am trapped in __Malfoy's__ house_.'

He turned around his head over his shoulder, allowing me to only see about half his face and both of his eyes, the look on his face saying without sound "What, Weasley?"

"What…what were you doing? There—at my home…what were you doing there? How did you…" my mouth followed my mind in losing my train of thought.

"It really doesn't matter at this point." Malfoy said looking, well, annoyed, only his head still turned towards me. The nonchalant tone in his voice fueled my own annoyance, my own particular anger.

"It bloody well does matter how hell you know what was going in my house Malfoy! Don't give me any shit about being in the right place at the right time either. Merlin! I…" my voice flattered at the last two words spoken. There wasn't any possible way…

"Don't even think it." His voice was thick with annoyance now, splashed with a hint of mockery.

"Think what?" I asked, clutching at my ripped robes, thinking that if I tried hard enough I could convince myself that it all wasn't real, that I would wake up any second and Harry would wake up next to me and ask me what was wrong.

"Don't tell me you believed that missionary bullshit, did you?" He finally turned around and faced me completely. My face must have given away my surprise as I stood there simply blinking and breathing.

"Merlin, Weasley! How the bloody hell did you ever past your OWLs?" He smirked now, completely mocking my ignorance of who he really was. I dropped the chunks of cloth I had been clutching as my hands balled up into fists and I walked towards him, thrusting my face inches in front of his.

"Then why were you lying to me? Why were you at my bloody house? What the hell are you playing at MALFOY!" My whole body shook as I screamed his name. His eyes widened, and he even moved his head back a little.

"I work for the ministry Mrs. Potter. I was doing my job." he dead-panned. What?! I shook my head, as if it I could simply shake off all this confusion. Why, why…

"Why? What business does ministry have with Harry? He wasn't doing anything wr--." My voice was accusatory, but Draco was lethal with his response.

"You don't want to finish that sentence." he stated as he stared right at into my eyes. His grey stare was meant to intimidate me, but it was the way his eyes slowly moved over my body after a moment, almost counting my visible injuries, that truly shook me to my core.

"You still haven't told me why." My voice this time revealed my feelings of defeat. I lowered my eyes from his face. I thought heard him sigh a little, and then he began walking towards the nearest door. His stride was moderate, and at the doorway he turned and looked back at me, waiting for me to follow him. I walked slower than him, my pain keeping me from matching his pace.

We walked into another room not that different from the first; this one had no chandelier, but rather a giant fireplace. Two large dark green armchairs loomed in front of the fireplace, and I watched Draco sit in the one farthest away, holding out his hand palm up towards the one closest, motioning me to take a seat next to him. The chairs had looked a bit foreboding but were actually rather comfy and a bit warmed by the fire.

With the snap of Malfoy's fingers, an old house-elf appeared. She was worn a cloth bearing the Malfoy family crest and carried a tray with two steaming cups of tea. The house-elf glanced up at me as I reached for the cup of tea. Her age ridden eyes widened slightly as she saw the damage on my face and robes. Her head quickly went back down, fearful that I caught her staring.

"Prepare Miss Weasley a bath. And set out my smallest pair of sleeping robes for her in the first guest room." He said this all matter-of-factly, staring only at the fire as he calmly sipped his tea. I stared at him completely floored. After the house-elf had apparated away, he looked at me and shrugged.

"My smallest pair will still look ridiculously huge on you, but you can't sleep in the robes you have on now." He then returned to sipping his tea and watching the fire, as if he had just asked me to open the window or pass the sugar, rather than stating that I would be staying the night at his house. He turned back to me and read the shock and displeasure on my face.

"Look Weasley, it's the middle of the night, and I doubt you have anywhere you could run off to right now." My lack of response told him more than I wanted it to, that no one else knew what was going on with the monster at home, and I wasn't about to tell anyone either. He nodded ever so slightly at this, going on with, "You'll stay tonight and tomorrow we'll discuss something more…suitable for all parties involved." Then he set down his half-empty cup of tea and began to walk towards another door. I stayed seated, knowing I was not meant to follow him.

"Wait!" I called out as I stood up suddenly when he reached the doorway, remembering what his whole tea and sleep-over invitation had be used to avoid this whole time.

"You still have told me why…why it was your job to come to my house today. Or how you knew what was happening." Draco bit his lip and lowered his head, thinking of how to respond. I tried to wait patiently, but grew somewhat anxious knowing that the more time went by, the more likely he was to give a real answer.

"I am an Unspeakable, Weasley, so this doesn't leave this room, nor is ever repeated again in what appears to be my presence." After the war, the truth about how often Harry and the Order had used Poly Juice Potion had come into light, making the Ministry much more cautious these days. I whispered a yes, and he stared at me before nodding again, understanding that I had the ability to keep very big secrets from many people.

"I was there to get inside your house and place a bug—a Muggle listening device. The Ministry has been keeping closer and closer watch on him since the war ended. With his enormous popularity," He had looked almost sickened as he said it, "comes growing power. The more powerful Potter becomes, the more the Ministry fears being overthrown."

I stood there, nearly as shocked as I had been when I realized who had taken me from my home. The Ministry was afraid of Harry? That was impossible. Completely impossible to fathom, but Draco looked so sincere…how could…

He turned back towards the doorway, but stopped when I managed to spit out, "But that's impossible! Harry couldn't do that. Why would he even want to? Harry would never—", Draco's voice was quiet but deathly firm when he cut me off.

"There are a lot of things people thought he would never do. Goodnight Mrs. Potter." Then he walked out of the room, leaving me alone, just as he had earlier that afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

-1Ch. 4: Waking up alone

Usually when I awoke, I watched a thin, somewhat pretty redhead wake up next to a man with dark messy hair. They both slept on their own sides of the bed, usually with some small touch between, such as a hand on a back or a foot on a calf. The one connection was enough for that married couple, because in reality sleeping wrapped up in someone's arms was uncomfortable because you couldn't move around at all and you both got sweaty pretty fast. The wife told herself, "People only sleep like that in romance novels." and she said she was happy with her marriage.

But this was not every other morning, because this morning when I woke up the first thing I saw was white. My pillows, my sheets, the comforter on the bed, and the men's pajamas I was wearing were all white. The bedding on our bed is red; I stopped using white bedding and wearing white clothing in general years ago. Somehow I always managed to spill or drip something on them, and getting out the stains, particularly any blood stains, was near impossible even with magic. So there was absolutely no white in my bedroom--that was my first clue that something was going on.

As I lifted myself up on my elbows, I also noticed that I spent the night sleeping in the middle of the bed. This was also something that did not happen. Harry and I each our own sides of the bed, and while Harry was known to wander towards the middle some nights, I never crossed that line. Another thing was that I wore those sleeveless, v-neck sexy nightgowns that are a bit awkward at times because before I was sleeping with Harry I never slept in a dress, but that was he liked, so that's what I wore. The white pajamas I was in were so large that one of my shoulders was exposed with only the top two buttons of the shirt undone. The string on the bottoms had also loosed to the point where the top of the pants was halfway down my bottom.

I tried blinking multiple times, thinking it would wash the sleep from my mind and pull me out of this strange dream--but no, the blinks only made the white room appear about brighter. I lifted the comforter and sheet off me, and pulled up the pants, and began to tie the string tightly around my hips. When the string brushed against my left hip, I couldn't help but yelp out in pain. I gently pulled down on the side of the pants and looked to see a huge bruise.

That's when it all came rushing back to me. The missionary visit, the dinner, the…the…_take a deep breath_…the attempted raping. And then Draco Malfoy had saved me. He saved me? From what, my own husband? No, no, no…he saved me from the other man, the one that showed up after I married Harry.

My body froze at that realization. Holy Merlin, Harry! He would terrified and probably calling everyone. He would wake up with a throbbing head and blood on the floor and a missing wife. I pulled up the pants so that the top fell above my hips and below my waist. I had to get home to my husband. I had to let him know I was safe and let him hold me and reassure him that I was fine and just explain to him what had happened while he was gone. I had to get back to him, for the sake of my marriage.

I started walking towards the door, only for it to open on it's own. Wait, no, not entirely on it's own. It was opened by that house-elf. She carried a tray with scones , an apple, and another steaming cup of tea.

"Oh! Mistress is awake. Forgive me for my presence miss. Iris will just be leaving your breakfast in the room miss." The house-elf managed to bow while still holding up the tray, and then began to walk towards a small table in the room.

I found myself given an opportunity here. I had to get back to Malfoy, and I had to get back my robes before I could leave and go home. I took a few steps towards her and said, "Wait! Iris, is it?" she nodded a bit eagerly it seemed at simply being called by her name.

"Iris, did Malfoy tell you to bring me breakfast in my room?" I tilted my head and wondered in Malfoy had breakfast in his bedroom as well. Hell, I doubt Malfoy has ever even seen the inside of a kitchen other than mine. That thought made me widen my eyes a bit. I could not think of anything significant between Malfoy and me--our presence in each other's had to be momentary, and had to end very soon before I started to wonder more about Malfoy at all.

"Yes, miss. Master be having his breakfast in the garden, as he does every Saturday. He thought mistress would like her breakfast in her room." Iris spoke a bit slowly but enthusiastically

nonetheless. I got the impression that she wasn't often asked questions, only given orders.

I clapped my hands together and attempted a smile at Iris. I took a deep breath before saying, "Well, I would like to have my breakfast in the garden as well. But before I go out there, could you please bring me the robes I was wearing last night." Years with Hermione had gotten me in the habit of always being polite around house-elves, using their names and saying please and the like.

Iris' giant eyes seemed to water up very quickly. She moved the tray to one hand so she could bow more deeply as she explained, "Of course mistress!! Iris will have you robes in no time!" The house-elf then apparated out the room and came literally seconds later, with my robes cleaned, mended, and neatly folded.

She left for my to change in private, but as I reached for the clothes, I realized that there was an item missing. I gasped as I remembered what have become of my knickers. Poor, poor Harry, waking up in the horrible state and finding nothing of mine but my knickers. He probably already had the entire Ministry searching for me now--using every single member to find the wife of "The-Boy-Who-Conquered." It would probably only be a matter of time before Malfoy was owled, and I was set home straight away.

I felt very strange walking around fully dressed without knickers. While I will admit I never wore them to sleep, not wearing them during the day was an entirely different story. I knew of other girls who did it, but with the strangeness of it I could not get comfortable…I did my best to try to ignore my nakedness and remain as calm as possible. Once I was home I could put on some bloody knickers and be done with it.

After I was dressed, Iris returned and walked me down several long hallways, a library nearly the same size as the one at Hogwarts, and finally out towering French glass doors to a beautiful patio. Malfoy sat at the one table on the patio with his back to us, sipping a cup of tea and reading what appeared to be the latest addition of _The Daily Prophet_.

Past the patio there were stairs that lead down to nearly nothing but roses. Row upon row of sweet pale pink roses, with the smell of them overwhelming everything else, the smell of the tea and food and tension in the air.

I stood there smelling the roses in the air while Iris apparated away. I felt awkward standing there now, knowing that at one point I had done this exact same thing before. Standing within a few feet of Draco Malfoy, in these exact clothes, but now things had changed. Somehow he had wormed his way into my life, and now I had to worm my way out of his, and soon. If I don't show up in a few hours Harry will probably just have the ministry searching every house that has ever had a known Deatheater inside of it. All he would have to go on would be the blood stains and my pair of knickers. Bloody hell I have to get out of this world of rose gardens and house-elves and get back to reality.

"I see you've awoken Mrs. Potter." I was startled by his voice. I looked at him and saw that he hadn't changed anything at all, never glanced back once. He just sat there still sipping his tea and reading the paper.

I took a deep breath. I told myself that I just have to tell him I am leaving. I am leaving and he cannot keep me here. I needed to get out of there, out of there and back to my husband.

"Malfoy I'm leaving." He turned around at that. He looked at me with one eyebrow raised higher than the other for a second, then his grey eyes returned to usual lack of emotion. He folded his paper and placed it on the table, and then set his cup of tea next to it.

"Oh really, Ginevra? How exactly, were you planning on do that?" His signature smirk appeared on his face as he stared me down. I was, of course, a little infuriated at his condescending words towards me.

"I am going to apparate out, you bastard. I was just trying to polite and--" my hands began to involuntarily twist into fists at my sides as he interrupted me.

"There are no doubt hundreds of spells and enchantments on this manor, Weasley. It is a very long and tedious process for someone to be added for the convenience of apparating on and off the estate. Even after receiving my apparating license, it was still months before I was able to leave my own home." He smirked once again, and even went to take another sip of tea. I began to shake a little, stunned at the realization that he planned on keeping me here. I took a few steps towards him and looked down over him as I stood there irate and he sat smugly in his chair.

"You bloody bastard! I'll hex you and I'll walk out the front fuc--"

"--Do you have your wand Weasley?" He tilted his head to the side slightly and looked up at me with a touch of curiosity.

"What? What do you mean? Wh…what…what are you talking about?" I knew what he was getting at. I knew it and I didn't want to admit to. Not even to myself, let alone him.

"Surely," he gestured with his hands after he placed his cup back on the table, "if you had your wand on you, you would have hexed your husband last night. You would have hexed him as you now plan to hex me, and just walked out the front fuc--"

I slipped my hand in my pocket and felt the cool wood of my wand, but couldn't bring myself to wrap my fingers around it. He must have known that I had it the whole time. Had it the whole time and had done nothing. I interrupted him right where he had me.

"--He's not my husband." I said, closing my eyes, wondering how exactly I had gotten myself to this point. Where I had never spoken what was wrong with my marriage out loud or written it down or even considering telling any of my family or friends and now…

"What do you mean?" Malfoy's voice softened, and even with my eyes closed, I felt him lean in towards me, waiting to hear my explanation.

"He…he chang…it's not him. That's not my husband." I tried to say it defensively, but I knew that it came out weak and nonsensical. I could almost hear Malfoy's brow frowning and his eyes rolling.

"He…he becomes someone else. He isn't Harry. I did not marry that man. When he…when he changes, Harry isn't there anymore. Harry would never do that to me. Harry leaves and the other man is there. He--"

"--stop it. Just stop it right now." I finally opened my eyes to see that Malfoy had now stood up with the paper tucked under his arm and his now empty cup in one hand.

"Your husband beats you Ginevra. That's exactly what it is. You just can't admit to yourself or anyone else. Potter--"

"No you stop it!" I sudden felt moisture on my eyes and cheeks. Any other day of my life I would have looked up to see if it had suddenly started raining, but I knew that nothing was normal today, as I was apparently bearing my soul and bawling my eyes out as I discussed my martial difficulties with Draco Malfoy.

"That is NOT my husband! It's not him! It's not--" Draco interrupted my screaming ramblings by yelling back in my face.

"Is he possessed Weasley? Does he remember beating the shit out of you?" His voice was hard and the words came out almost cruel. The truth always is.

I felt myself plop down onto the patio in a heap of tears and mended robes. I tried to choke back a sob, hoping that I would by able to stop myself from speaking the next words that came into my head.

"He says he's sorry." The words came out in barely a whisper, and were then drowned out by loud sobs as I crossed my arms over my legs and buried my head. I couldn't stop. I had just admitted that I was a battered wife to myself, and the one person I never thought I would even have to speak again after Hogwarts.

My crying jag came to a halt when I felt light pressure on my shoulder. I lifted my head from my arms and saw between the tears that Draco was holding out a handkerchief for me.

I wiped the tears off of my face before attempting to blow my nose into a piece cloth that felt softer against my skin than most bed sheets.

"I don't work today, so we can go into town and order you some new robes for while you're staying here. There's…there's nothing in the paper about you or him. I doubt you'll want to contact anyone for a few days, until you decide on what your plans are." His voice came out soft and matter-of-factly over my head as he spoke.

Then I heard his footsteps walking away from me towards the French doors back into the house.

"You need to stop trying to escape reality Ginevra. It always finds you at the worst possible moment."

Just like the times before, he walked away, leaving me alone.


End file.
